


From Dusk Till Dawn

by mrsskeptic



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Book: Midnight Sun, F/F, Twilight AU, Twilight References, havent decided if there will be smut or not..... time will tell, i just wanted that SWEET SWEET ANGST, if you had told me i would be writing a twilight-based fanfic in the year 2020 five years ago....., inspired by midnight sun, some things are different but largely the plot will remain the same, you know what i would've believed you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsskeptic/pseuds/mrsskeptic
Summary: Carmilla has never been more frustrated in her three centuries as a vampire than when she comes across Laura, an ordinary human girl with a penchant for bad luck, arriving at Silas University with the most tantalizing blood the other has ever smelled. What starts as temptation soon turns into intrigue, and both girls find they’re drawn to each other in ways neither of them could’ve expected.(AKA: Midnight Sun from the Twilight series, but make it gay.)
Relationships: Carmilla Karnstein & LaFontaine, Carmilla Karnstein & Lilita Morgan, Carmilla Karnstein & Will Luce, LaFontaine & Lola Perry, Laura Hollis & Danny Lawrence, Laura Hollis & Will Luce, Laura Hollis & Wilson Kirsch, Laura Hollis/Carmilla Karnstein, Matska Belmonde & Carmilla Karnstein, Wilson Kirsch & Danny Lawrence
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. FIRST SIGHT

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're ready for my gay ass to be angsty for like, 30 chapters.  
> Some things to note: Silas University is moved to Grazington, Ontario, lovingly based off of the capital of Austria. I've also introduced some new OCs that you'll get to meet as the story goes on, which I'm very excited for. I've made the fic mature as I'm up in the air about smut happening, but at the very least it'll be gory, so it's best to keep it either way. This fic will be updated when I can get to it; I've already started working on the next chapters, so here's hoping it won't be too long between each upload!  
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy my work and the love I've put into it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vampire's life gets turned upside-down when she meets a peculiar new student.

Gods, I am sick to death of Biology 101.

I’ve lost count how many times I’ve sat in a lab like this, checking off another pointless Gen Ed for another pointless degree; changing slides, asking questions, another “yes ma’am”, “no, sir”, pretending to be the good little girl and easing my way out of trouble. The years may drag past but the classes remain the same, repetitious professor after professor droning in my ears. 

Then again, I suppose that’s what happens when you go through a century's worth of universities.

It’s been over a hundred years since I’ve stepped foot on Silas’ secluded, stuffy campus. Unsurprisingly, much of it still looks the same: ivy crawling up the crumbling brick walls, weathered by the almost constant rain; stony pillars speaking to a history long forgotten (and long ignored); a library the metaphorical size of a football field-- and in the center of it all, a grand fountain, fashioned in the likeness of a faceless woman pouring water from a pitcher to a pool at her feet. An unassuming copper plate sits embedded in the stone below her, inscribed with five simple words:

_THE FIRST DEAN OF SILAS._

The woman is unnamed and unimportant to any human that walks by; a freshman glances up at her once or twice their first semester, unnerved by her presence enough to avoid her empty gaze the next time they pass. But this woman -- no, this _terror_ , this monster, this vile creature too awful to name -- is someone that I know perhaps better than I know myself.

And I _hate_ that stupid fucking statue more than anything.

I’d been in a coven the last time I was here. It was the autumn of 1868, a dreary, grey September leering precariously closer to the end of the year. Grazington was barely a city then, but there we were, sprouting a mighty college campus amongst a sea of factories and businesses too insignificant to name. I was less a girl and more the devil when I traipsed through the newly named _Silas University_ , my parasol in hand and an infatuated friend at my arm. I was enchanting back then. I could’ve had anyone I wanted at my beck-and-call-- and I did, one after the other trailing the infamous _Mircalla_ _Karnstein_.

I was my mother’s right hand when she first started her grand scheme. The university attracted tens of hundreds of students, all intrigued by the mysterious dean who sprouted through the cracks of this industrious town to make a name for herself. Nobody knew where the money came from and nobody asked, simply excited by the boom it brought to this lazy side of the province. But soon enough Silas was a household name, and there was Maman, the dean, rising to be the mastermind she always had been.

I was simply the bait. As I said before, I was enchanting. Literally.

I’d pick out a victim with the weakest link. Tuberculosis made an orphan out of many, so it wasn’t hard to find a girl without a family, or a small-minded boy with only a distant cousin to remember him by. I’d become their friend, their confidante, hold them to my chest as they cried, brush back the hair from their cheeks. This gift had been a part of me for as long as I could remember, this ability to soften the strongest resolve, to break down the walls no one ever could. Mother knew this when she resurrected me-- it was my most redeeming quality, perhaps my only one, to calm and call the victims to my side. And they’d stare into my deep brown, almost-burgundy eyes and tell me they’d love me. That they never wanted to let me go. That they were all the family they had and all they ever wanted.

But I was ruthless back then. And I hadn’t known love in almost two-hundred years.

Not until Elle.

I shake my head to fight this sudden recollection of the past, unclenching my fist from my lap. Silas may be my own personal hell on repeat, but it’s also the last place on this gods-forsaken earth where I’m safe from Maman -- safe from everything I was and ever had been.

Not to mention her merry band of bastards.

Fleming’s busy introducing himself to the class in the world’s most _monotonous_ tone known to man when a brunette excuses herself through the door, her sharp voice raising my head from my knuckles.

Huh. _She’s_ new.

Her face comes as something familiar to me; it takes me a moment to recognize it, blush-bitten and soft, framed by long, dusty-brown hair. _Her_ , the girl from the dining hall who had peered over at me curiously from next to her new friend, Shirley Temple. This never came as a shock, really. I dazzled people with my inhuman beauty until I didn’t, until they saw something that disconcerted them away from looking again -- unless I pushed for more. _Laura_ , I had heard from across the cafeteria, the redhead nudging her so she glanced away; I watched a tinge of red flush up her neck as she did, blinking back towards the other.

Silas is small enough that you can hear a pin drop from across the courtyard, so when we gained a transfer student into the junior class from some prestigious university in Toronto, it was practically all over the news. _Laura Hollis_ , journalism major and geek extraordinaire, someone kind and sweet enough to give you cavities. She’d been swamped by strangers these past few days, everyone asking her a thousand-and-one questions and walking her to class.

Well, everyone except me.

“Perry, who is _that_?” I heard her tinny voice whisper from across the room, and I had to hold back the laugh that would’ve certainly given me away.

I knew Miss _Lola_ Perry, but only second-handedly-- we’d shared a Lit class together last year. She was always the first one to raise her hand. We never talked-- and I never wanted to. Something about her _screamed_ ‘perky’.

But before _Perry_ could answer, another redhead with short hair turned to interrupt her. “That’s Carmilla. Resident goth and total badass.” They said, a grin bleeding into their tone. I didn’t know this one, but apparently they knew me. “One time, I watched her almost kill a guy in the middle of the plaza. It was pretty awesome.“

Ah. _That_. Wasn’t my crowning moment, but in my defense the dude grabbed my ass, so he had it coming. He was lucky we had witnesses.  
“LaFontaine!” Perry replied, hitting her friend’s arm, “Can you at least _try_ not to scare the poor girl away in her first week? I mean, really, as if she needs anything else to worry about.”

“Hey, she asked. Besides, L doesn’t seem all that scared. Maybe a bit hot and bothered, though. Am I right?”

The brunette stumbled over her protest, trying not to blow her glaringly obvious cover. I let a chuckle slip out that time, too quiet for the human ear. I was beginning to like LaFontaine.

And, even though she was nothing more than a silly girl with a five-minute crush, Laura was beginning to pique my interest, too.

Her eyes meet mine for a moment -- which is laughable, considering she’s trying to look at anyone else in the room besides me -- and I smirk past the curtain of my hair teasingly towards her. She clears her throat, her face flushing, a smile splitting her face in two. Fleming gestures toward her impatiently, telling her to sit, and, almost simultaneously, we both notice the only seat left is the one next to me. This is going to be fun.

Until it isn’t.

She walks in front of the twenty-dollar fan the professor's stuck on his desk, the breeze rushing through her to brush my face. It’s as if the room has caved in on top of me, that’s how heavy it feels, how much it _consumes_ me in a matter of seconds.

Holy shit. Her blood is the sweetest I’ve ever smelled.

I want to slaughter this whole room to get to her. It catches me before I can stop it. I don’t care about what Geraldine or Christabel has to say, I don’t care about my pact, the treaty or my warily loose morals -- I want to crush her body to mine until she is a part of me, put my mouth to her neck, feel her beating heart in my hands. I want to taste the blood as it swims warm through my throat, honey lapping over my tongue. I want to kill her, and kill her, and kill her again, little deaths in the name of a hunger long subdued.

It’s a small classroom -- smothering, even. It’d take seconds to kill the students sitting closest to her, so quick that half of these dimwits wouldn’t even notice their heads cracking into the linoleum, slamming the door on the way. I doubt even Laura would notice until it was too late.

People would start screaming. Okay, _that’d_ be annoying. Not earth-shattering, not enough to stop me, but definitely annoying. Exuding my powers wouldn’t be enough to still the room. There were three sets of lab partners sitting around me. Snapping their necks would be easy; I’d make it painless for them at the least, some kind of penance for my actions, because the Gods know I wouldn’t make it painless for her.

And she’d be the last, the magnum opus of innocent victims, standing amongst a mountain of bodies and looking at me with the wide whites of her eyes. Like she was seeing through me. Seeing _all_ of me.

The stone surface of the desk crumbles in my grip, a spare edge pressing sharply into my palm. My conscience rams into my skull like a needle to a balloon, the pressure hissing out of me.

 _No_. I clamp a hand over my lips to hide the fangs that pulse from my teeth, holding a breath so she doesn’t tempt me further. I swore long ago to no longer be the monster Mother raised me to be. She and the rest of my old clan could feed off whoever they pleased, but I devoted my infinite hell to defying her in every way possible. It only made me yet another piece of prey, but at least I could try and (unsuccessfully) shake some of the guilt that sat along my shoulders.

I’m horrified when I see her shuffling towards me, venom pooling in my mouth. Her smile, though, has been replaced by something else-- something _worried_ , a little _v_ creasing between her brows _._ Gods, she was delicious even without her heartbeat pounding ravenously in my ears. She’s finally noticing something off about me, but can’t quite put a name to it; _Me_ , who was glaring at her in the most carnivorous, abhorrent way possible. I dig my nails into my cheek when she makes her way over to the desk, shouldering her book-bag back.

“Hi.” She says hesitatingly, “Um, do you -- I mean, is this seat taken?”

I stare at her for a moment, anxious that my darkened glare will give me away-- as if she could possibly know _what_ she’s talking to. I hear the rhythm ticking menacingly from her breast, the blood rushing in her neck mere feet from me. I bark a laugh through my palm, certain it’d be slick with sweat if I were capable of it.

The silence has pressed on a moment too long. Everyone -- even Professor Fleming, as unobservant as he is-- has noticed the tension pouring out of me. The gaze of every other student waits on us -- this -- whatever _this_ is -- until I can no longer take it. I’m quick to collect my bag at my feet, standing up so fast the stool hits the floor. I push past her with my shoulder, her live, hot touch burning against my skin. The professor calls after me through the fog, but the sound of it dims as I race inhumanly down the hall, unseen to the naked eye. It’s better I don’t stop. I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself if I did.

I shove myself into the first broom closet I can find, my hands trembling at my sides, and close the door so hard behind me the frame shakes.

What the frilly hell was _that_?

I pace back and forth from one wall to the other, my fingers combed through my hair, clutching it taut against my head. In the three centuries I’ve been walking this earth, I have never, _never_ come across a blood as tantalizing as hers. It’d been different as a newborn — simply living in the existence of humans then was agonizing, no matter how many I’d killed. Even now, in the short decades I’ve been living off of animals alone, hunger comes at a different price. But this — _her_ — the sweetness in her voice when she spoke — the pale divot of her collarbone — 

It’s like leading a lamb to slaughter.

My fist slams into the brick wall before I can stop myself, caving in around my knuckles. Every inch of my body is alight, like I’m holding a lighter to a raw nerve. I feel hysterical. I feel like I’m starving in a way I’ve never felt before. I feel like the monster I know I am in every sense of the word.

All I know now is that I have to get out of here. I have to keep myself as far from her as I can. And in order to do that, there was something I needed to do.

* * *

“I’m sorry, we just don’t have any other biology classes available.” The ancient woman at the advising desk repeats, and for the second time that day I find myself wanting to drive my teeth through someone’s throat.

“Cut the crap, Betty White. I passed two other biology classes on the way here. I’m not looking for neuroscience, okay, just something to fill a Gen Ed.” Not that credits even mattered in this lifetime. School was as tedious as watching paint dry. But if I was forced to leave... If Mother figured out where I was and found the girl I was so desperately craving...

Well... Let’s just say I wouldn’t be the only one licking my chops.

“I don’t care for your tone, you know.” Ms. Prissy replies as she shuffles some papers, “And I don’t expect you to understand the ins and outs of this campus. You might have spent your last two years here, but that doesn’t make you any high-and-mightier than the rest of us.”

We’ve met before, her and I, though I doubt she has any recollection of it. 50 years ago I passed her by at a graduation party for a girl I had been entertaining in my short stay in town; she’d been a spry twenty-something then, with some sort of arts degree and a whole life ahead of her, only to never leave the hallowed halls of Silas. It’s funny-- in a bitter, biting sort of way. I’d do anything to be free, forever haunting this damned body, while she wastes away in a threadbare office chair and a sweater stitched with kittens. I’m halfway through saying _three_ centuries _certainly does, sweetheart_ , too upset to use my ability, when a familiar, intoxicating perfume wafts into the room. The words stick to the roof of my mouth.

 _Right_ . Of _course_ she’d find me here. Out of all the rooms on campus, Laura would pick the one place in this suffocating labyrinth to waltz into. My chin casts toward my shoulder against my better judgment — something I know she notices — before I pull it forward, clenching my jaw so tight I can hear a crackling in my teeth.

“You know what? _Fine_ ,” I hiss sarcastically, hoping my glare is sharp enough to kill, “I’ll just find some other useless hag to do your dirty work. Thanks for nothing. _Really_.”

I’m being crueler than necessary, but this ravenous, red feeling is bubbling so thickly up my throat it could smother me. I linger at the desk a moment too long, wondering if I can make a grand escape without having to pass by the definition of a human Slurpee. But then the old witch in front of me coughs, pulling me from my stupor, and I know the only thing I can do is clear past her until I’m as far away as I can get— off-campus, out of the city, and charging through the Ontario forests in search of my next prey.

I turn to face her.

For one breathtaking and paralyzing second, our eyes meet; her soft, kind eyes, something full of starlight meeting my dark pupils, blown with desire. My lips part, her name dying on my tongue. _Laura, Laura, Laura_. I want to say it. I want to say _anything_ to her. I want to stop standing here, looking like a fucking idiot as my insides writhe and beg for me to tear her beating heart from her chest.

But then I draw in a breath, the taste of her tripping sharply through my mouth, and I will the moment to pass, a hungry rage shadowing over me. “Move.” I command, and her hurt expression shifts into fear; I see myself reflected in her eyes, this feral beast exuding nothing but hatred in it’s gaze, consumed by a lust she herself could never understand. _Good_. She _should_ be afraid. I’m the embodiment of whatever spooky story you tell your kids at night to shut them up.

But her eyes. Her soft, kind eyes, something full of starlight.

I don’t give myself time to figure it out. I stalk past her, purposefully avoiding her shoulder this time around, and hold my breath until I’m out the door.

I welcome the fresh air as I make my way out of the building, the smell of an oncoming storm rolling across the grass. Though I can’t get the scent of her out of my system, it's at least enough to draw me back to my senses, cooling the anger that had festered in me minutes ago. I cross the parking lot until I find my car, comforted, at least, by the one staple I have in my ever-shifting life: an Evora GT, as black as the night and standing out starkly against the others. It’s not my motorcycle, but the last time I had that Mattie had nearly thrown me off the road, so having something unrecognizable was probably the safer choice for now. I wrench open the door and toss my bag in the back, dropping into the front seat and peeling out of the parking lot as fast as I can.

I’m going to keep driving until I’m certain I won’t turn around.

* * *

I throw my car in park at the edge of a hunting trail about 80 miles east of Silas, a gentle rain tapping against the windshield. All at once I feel exhausted in a way I haven’t felt since I was human, so thick and dense that I almost wish I could fall asleep. Instead I lean back into the seat and watch the raindrops drizzle down the glass, the thoughts I’d been avoiding for the past hour rushing hastily to the forefront.

What is it about her that makes me so... Curious? She certainly has this innocent, deer-in-headlights thing going on. Not something clumsy, not weak, but… Inexperienced. Naive. Too kind and headstrong for her own good, someone who needed protection as much as she protected others. Was there someone like that for her? Someone to shield her from herself, to fight against her own sincerity, her inherent goodness? There _had_ to be someone, someone who walked at her side, who talked and listened to the gentleness of her voice and ached for more.

But if there wasn’t...

 _Fuck_ no. No fucking way could I trust myself around her. If there’s anything she needs protection against it’s me, and I sure as hell am not going to play the part of the hero-- not when I want to drain her like a juice box. I push myself out of the car, slamming the door a bit too hard behind me. I don’t take any more time to think, running as fast as I can through the woods until I’m just a streak of black against the trees. It’s not long until I find my next victim: a beautiful doe drinking from a pond, her sleek neck bent towards the water. She notices me only seconds before I pounce, looking at me with wide brown eyes-- seeing through me. Seeing _all_ of me.

One thing was for certain: I’d be eating well tonight.


	2. EXCEPTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time Carmilla and Laura meet goes almost as bad as the first, and our favorite vampire learns a little something about her Biology partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Welcome back to angsty gay time. Before we get started, I wanted to note that I changed some stuff within the two chapters to mold around a new canon, mainly that the people Carmilla charmed were more family and friends to her than lovers; not much changed in the last one except some words to fit, so don't feel pressured to go back and reread the whole thing! I just felt that it fit better in the timeline of things and allows for more variety, especially when we get to Elle ;~)

“So are you just gonna sit around and mope in the woods, or will you come back and _actually_ be responsible for once in your life?” Geraldine says, perched across a flat stump, a pale leg crossed over the other. If she were any more of a stereotypical blonde, she’d have a nail file in hand. I groan, my back flat along a fallen tree, slapping my arms against the bark.

“You know, I don’t remember asking you to follow me out here. _Oh_ , that’s right, _I didn’t_.”

“Please. As if Chris would ever get off my back if you croaked out in the middle of nowhere.” She replies, softening at the mention of her girlfriend. I stare up into the canopy of trees, trying to ignore the pang surfacing in my chest at the thought of them.

Geraldine and Christabel are probably the closest thing I have to family now that I’m out of Mother’s clutches. We met in the late ‘20s right before the Great Depression hit, when parties were still full of boozy aspirations and endless laughs. Unbeknownst to me, Geraldine had been bitten by one of Maman’s henchmen; which one, however, remained a mystery, as her transformation had been... gruesome, to say the least, and I was running so far away from my previous coven that I wouldn’t be able to guess even if I tried. As fate would have it, she came across a young, sick woman-- _enter Christabel_ , who took the other in despite her wild crimson eyes and insatiable bloodlust. She knew Geraldine wouldn’t hurt her; even as a human, Chris had the uncanny ability to see far into the future past anyone else. She helped Geraldine learn how to feed off of animals-- a feat, she would later share, that nearly cost her and her girlfriend’s life-- and in return, Ger took care of her when she was too weak to do it herself. Chris got worse and worse until she was practically one foot in the grave, and in the end, there was only one option left.

And thus their great, epic romance was born.

Sometimes we live together-- traveling as two sisters and a girlfriend, or a couple of roommates-- and sometimes we don’t. I almost prefer not to; getting caught in their lovey-dovey soulmate shtick gets nauseating after a while, and I think Ger would rather bash her own head in with a brick than share a bathroom with me again. But we never try to be more than a few hours away from each other. Landing in Grazington at almost the exact same time was purely coincidence-- on my part, at least. Knowing Chris, she probably saw it coming months ahead of time.

I glance hesitantly towards Geraldine. I know she isn’t scared I’d off myself -- although not for previous lack of trying -- but rather, that someone _else_ would find me. It’s dangerous, my being out here. If any of my old family were to catch onto my scent, they’d bring me back to Mother on a silver platter. Not to mention the vampire hunters. Admittedly, they hadn't been much to worry about even before when Vordenberg was more than the senile husk he is now-- but the forests weren’t part of the neutral ground that encompassed Grazington, so to anyone who crossed the line, it was fair game.

I breathe out a long sigh, grounding myself enough to reply. “You don’t understand. You weren’t there, you didn’t... _smell_ her like I did. I almost went all _Elizabeth Bathory_ on a room full of toddlers.” The paths between the canopy’s leaves start to transform into veins, branching off into one another, staggeringly infinite. I swing my arm over my eyes to avoid my _annoyingly_ overactive imagination, a growl rumbling in my throat. “She’s infuriating.”

Geraldine scoffs at me. “First off, let’s get over the whole ‘woe is me’ pity party thing, and figure out where to go next, okay?” The tambor dies on my tongue at her reply, and I let it fade into the forest. Though I’m not looking at her anymore, I can hear the gears churning in her head, trying to solve this puzzle as much as I am. “Do you want to leave?”

“No.” I quickly say, and it surprises the both of us. The decision on whether to return and weather the storm or hit the road had practically consumed me since I’d arrived here four days ago, but at this moment, it’s as if I’ve known the answer all along. If I manage to fly under Mother’s radar (and that is an _unbelievingly_ big ‘if’), I could get in a good eight years before I’d have to avoid the city’s suspicion and move again. That’s eight years of shitty Lifetime movies, eight years of reading classics under the moonlight without a care in the world. Eight years of peace that I don’t deserve.

I’d be a fool to run from that.

I watch Geraldine lean forward into my peripheral, interrupting my musing, her eyes theatrically wide as she asks, “Do you want _me_ to off her for you?”

“Jesus _,_ _no!_ ” I snarl, moving to sit up so fast my hair whips my cheeks, “Haven’t you been listening, or can’t you hear me over the whole Farrah Fawcett thing you’ve got going on?”

Her girlish laugh rings out into the woods as she pats her blonde curls mockingly. “Relax, _Mircalla_ , I’m kidding.” She replies, emphasizing my old name with a lilt of her voice, knowing full well how it gets on my nerves. But before I can shoot her a scowl she tilts her head, the comical expression shifting into onr of concern. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

I go as still as a statue, the constant mirage of thoughts wavering in and out of sight. I think about my apartment, with it’s bay windows and the mismatched furniture I bought off Craigslist; I think about Geraldine and Christabel only a few blocks away, and how much I’d miss them if I were forced to up and run again.

And finally, I think about Laura, with her mousy hair pushed back behind her ear, long eyelashes and glossy lips, a brush of scarlet painting her cheeks. I think about the way she last looked at me, her brow furrowed in… what, fear? Curiosity? _Concern_?

I lean back onto the bark wearily, resting my hands above my head.

“What ever gave you _that_ idea?”

* * *

My first day back on campus began as unassumingly as I thought it would, which came as both a pleasure and a pain. There was something about the routine that cushioned me throughout the morning, but as the day wore down, I noticed I became less and less patient, nervous at the prospect of what laid ahead of me. It was when I walked into my creative writing class that the tension simmering in my stomach came to a head.

“You’re in my seat.” I say shortly to a twenty-something hipster as he carelessly twiddles a pen on top of the desk. I recognized him from my English class with Professor Wilson last year, where I sat in this _exact_ same room in the _exact_ same chair, so I know he recognizes me as well; despite my lack of interest in any other of my classes, English is the one I always participate in. I’ve always had an interest in literature, even as a human; my philosophy major is just a piss-poor excuse to pick around at the different subjects I like. Nothing’s more useless than a philosophy major.

“Oh yeah? Does it have your name on it?” He replies smugly. I push a heavy sigh through my nose, flexing my hand at my thigh.

“Oh, sorry, _dudebro_ , let me rephrase that,” I continue, my voice oozing sarcasm, “Get out of my seat, or I’ll tear that rat’s nest you call a man-bun straight off your egotistical head.”

Everyone in a twenty foot radius turns to look at us. _Whoops._ I’m too fired up to fully grasp it, my nerves frayed and coming apart at the seams. He seems more embarrassed than afraid, which somehow grinds my gears even more, but it’s enough to get him out of my seat, mumbling something about my being “insane”. Maybe I am-- I’ve certainly been feeling _some_ sort of crazy this past week-- but right now, I couldn’t give a shit.

The entire class flashes by in an instant. One moment I’m taking my rightful place on the throne, the next Professor Wilson is wishing us a wonderful weekend, the rest of the students packing up their bags in a hurry to get out. I stand up from my daze, unzipping my backpack to toss in my empty notebook, suddenly terrified to pass through the door.

I still have time to run. I don’t even have the slightest clue where Maman is now, but maybe I can use that to my advantage. I could make it to Seattle within a day, or Alaska, anywhere across this side of the Hemisphere and far away from Biology 101, where a simple and ordinary human girl waits patiently to be the death of me. To be the death of herself.

“Carmilla,” A tender voice interrupts behind me, and I turn without even a second’s hesitation, comforted by the professor’s presence. I don’t like men-- never have, really. I have my reasons, almost four centuries worth, but Professor Wilson is a rare outlier. He’s one of the only teachers I’ve come across that actually cares about his students, and I try and take any chance I can to get a class with him. He rests his palms against a desk, leaning back and saying, “Good to have you back. We missed you on syllabus day.”

“Yeah, sorry. Caught a bug. Flu season, I guess,” I say, swinging my bag onto my shoulder, “But, uh, I’m back now, so… I’ll try and get the first piece submitted by Sunday, if that’s alright?”  
“No worries. I’m excited to see what you write this year. Have I told you already how much I loved your poetry book final from last semester?”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” I smile for the first time in days. Most people rarely get close enough to give me a compliment; Professor Wilson always has one to spare. Poetry’s been a hobby of mine since before I can remember. It was nice, getting recognized for it. Gods know it’s never something Mother would indulge me on.

He grins back at me. “Well, I’m always glad to say it again. I think this’ll be the perfect class for you.” He turns back towards the front of the room, glancing over his shoulder with a wave. “Get some rest this weekend, alright? I better see you on Monday.”

“You will. Scout’s honor.”

The kindness of the conversation is enough to carry me down the hall, floating on some warm kind of high, but then I see the door looming ominously in front of me, and the sudden recollection of where my footsteps are leading drops like a weight onto my shoulders.

Seattle. Alaska. Greenland could be nice. I’ve never run through the ocean; this could be as good a time to try as any. Or I could take a ferry. Wait, do they even do ferries anymore? Fuck, when’s the last time I’ve even ridden a ferry?

_Scout’s honor._

I close my eyes and draw myself back to the hall with a slow and steady exhale. _I can do this_. Or I can’t, in which I’ll hightail it to whatever corner of this earth I can and live the rest of eternity as a hermit. Either way, it’s now or never.

I walk through the door.

… She’s not here.

The booth sits emptily along the side of the wall, marred by the indent my hand made the last time I was here. Before I can stop it, a course of agitation races through me. _Seriously?_ Had I been worrying all week for nothing? Did Laura manage to sweet-talk that old bag in the advising office into switching her to a different period? Better yet, did she hop the next bus to whatever fancy university she was at before, running from the scary vampire lady who nearly bit her head off the last time she saw her? It’d certainly make my life easier if she did, but at the same time, I find it aggravating. I stalk towards the desk glumly, dropping onto my seat and nearly throwing my bag at my feet.

 _Damnit_. Fine, I’m intrigued by her. No reason to dance around it. I’m an asshole for wondering what she thinks of me now, and an even bigger one for wishing she’d walk into the classroom so I can speak to her again. Call it masochistic, call it stupid, but I know I need to beat this curiosity out of me in any way I can, because if I slip up... I won’t be the only one paying the price.

I’m too busy brooding to notice Laura’s familiar swatch of hair dodging through the door, billowing behind her shoulders. The room passes in slow motion. We notice each other almost simultaneously, her eyes meeting mine, and I hear her heartbeat tick faster in tandem; if mine could still beat, it’d probably be rattling in my chest, too. But before I can offer a smile, a grimace, any sort of greeting, she looks away again, taking calculated footsteps towards our desk.

She avoids the fan this time around. I give a silent thanks to the gods for that.

“Hey.” I say when she nears the table, trying to judge how close we can get to each other before I make her a main course.  
“Uh… Hi.” Laura replies, swinging her bag on top of the stool to take her books out. The swoop of air sends her scent careening into me, and my throat immediately itches with hunger.

 _Damn, that was fast_ . Already, in a span of seconds, she is too close to me. I could take her wrist in my hand and pull it flush to my mouth, biting into that lovely, tan skin of hers, scaling her veins with my teeth. She wouldn’t have any time to react. I wouldn’t kill her yet, just stun her enough to finish off the rest of the students, _but then_ \--

I lurch back a little too fast from her, my hand balling into a fist on the table. Thankfully she doesn’t notice, her long hair obscuring her face. I hold my breath, leaning steadily away from her, my chest alight with pain. If I hadn’t spent the last four days gorging myself on the forest’s now-dwindling population, I don’t know if I’d be able to make it through the next hour. But if I’m going to get through this-- if I’m going to get over my selfish interest in her and make it through the rest of this semester-- hell, the rest of my time here at Silas-- then I’d have to do it right.  
“I didn’t get to introduce myself last time.” I say, bracing myself against the desk, letting my glamour roll off of me in waves, “ _Carmilla_.”

She doesn’t even glance towards me. “Nice to meet you.” She says curtly, skirting around her name. It’s obvious by her tone that she remembers both the tension, and the terror that had passed between us during our last meeting. Still, her attitude comes as a shock to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve last used an extent of my powers-- sans conning my landlord into knocking off some of my rent, but he’s more of a leech than I am, so it was no skin off my back-- but there wasn’t any reason they shouldn’t be working at least a little by now.

Time to crank up the juice.

“So… We’re still partners, right? Did I miss anything?” I ask, my voice as smooth as silk, shifting back in my seat. _Look at me, look at me, look at me._

“Uh, you mean _aside_ from me doing all your dirty work this past week?” She trudges on as I grit my teeth, “We did some Punnett squares, which is like, totally eighth grade science if you ask me. But hey, I’m the one who needs a Biology credit because my old university wouldn’t transfer mine over for me, so who am I to talk? And then he blathered on about genes, or… whatever-- not to mention the _lab_ I had to get through _on my own_ on Wednesday-- so, no, you _really_ didn’t miss anything.” It’s clear her erratic ramble is less about the class, and more about the last time we met. I’d find the way she flounders under pressure cute if it weren’t for the irritation carving a hole into my chest. She flips the cover of her notebook back to a doodle-marked page, setting it between us. “Here. I took notes. And I’d appreciate it if you showed up to class next time.”

Okay, what the fuck is happening? I should be charming the hell out of her right now, not sitting here next to the world’s biggest Scrooge. Had my powers weakened over the years? Could they even _do_ that? It’s a thought that’s as frightening as it is sudden. I had been at the top of my game when I was with Maman; her own ability had magnified mine tenfold, to the point where nobody could’ve escaped us even if they’d tried. Did running from her take that away? Did _she_ take it away?

All at once I feel like I’m scrambling up a well, and the water is lapping at my neck, threatening to drag me under. I’m closed in by my rage, my hunger, by the anxiety that races through me about all I’ve ever had, and all I can lose. And I hate this girl, hate how she’s ruining the only semblance of peace I’ve had in decades, hate what she’s unraveling in me. 

“Whatever you say, _Laura_.” I condescendingly reply, snapping open my notebook to copy down her disturbingly pristine notes. I revel in the little gasp she makes, a smirk playing at the edge of my mouth, but before I can sit in my victory any longer she wrenches her journal out from under my elbow, moving it to her other side.

Oh, cupcake. You have no idea who you’re up against.

* * *

The rest of Biology passes in a haze of nerves and desire; one minute I’m knee-deep in wondering if I’ve lost my spark, the next Laura throws her hair over her shoulder and I have to hold myself back from becoming she-Dracula.

It’s not like I even _like_ using my powers; making someone see an idealized version of you-- only your best qualities and more-- isn’t as appetizing as it sounds. Besides, all of the “friends” I made wound up at the end of a steak knife, so it’s not as if it’s something I particularly enjoyed touching upon. But it’s been a part of me since I was reborn, and losing that… I don’t know. It’d be like losing a piece of me, and I’ve lost plenty of those already. Nowadays, I only use my power if I need to calm someone down (à la Laura, for a very poor example), or get something I need.

Like what I’m about to do now.

“Miss Karnstein,” Professor Fleming starts as I walk up to his desk; he doesn’t glance up from the notepad he’s scribbling on, apparently deciding I’m not worth his time. “You’re lucky I let you back in class. You almost cost yourself a few credits this past week, especially missing syllabus day.”

“Yeah, sorry. I had a _really_ bad stomach ache. Turned into the flu.” Or a bad case of bloodlust. But that probably won’t win me any brownie points. “ Uh, I know I missed the lab on Wednesday, but... I was hoping you’d give me an extension.” I let off a soft shedding of my power, shifting warily on my feet. Now was as good a time as any to see if my gifts still had any life left in them. Professor Fleming takes a long glance up at me, and I see just the slightest change of his stance. 

“If you would’ve been here on Monday, you would’ve learned that I have a strict late assignment policy.” Jesus, this guy’s an ass. No wonder the other biology classes were full. I push my charm a little harder.

“That’s what I heard. Buuut I also heard that you’re the best biology professor at Silas, so I thought I’d take my chances.” _Gag._ “What do you say?”

There’s the slightest pause between us, and for a moment I think _fuck, I really_ have _lost it_. But finally, to my unending relief, it does the trick; a chuckle slips out of his loose grin as he shuffles his papers to the side, drumming his fingers on the table. “I suppose I could make an exception. But don’t make me regret it.”

I grin right back at him with all of my teeth. “Oh, don’t worry, _I won’t_.” I cut the glamour short, watching the haze of it leave him as fast as it came. He blinks confusingly, shocked at what he just said, but before he can lay any claim to it I’m out the door, laughing at my vigor. It’s only then, halfway down the hall, that I realize the untouchable truth of the situation.

Laura, the simple and ordinary human girl, is not as simple and ordinary as I once thought-- because somehow, my abilities have no effect on her. For the first time in almost four-hundred years, I’ve met someone who couldn’t be touched by my ability-- and she just so happens to have the most delicious blood I’ve ever smelled.

… Okay, now she is _really_ starting to piss me off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another thing to note: I realized that a big part of writing a longfic is planning out details, duh! So the next couple of chapters will be uploaded quite a bit slower than the last two, since now I'm working on a chapter outline and figuring out where to go next. Also, special shout-out to one of my best friends, Kate (@glisselda), for going through my messy drafts and helping me decipher them into making more sense!  
> Otherwise, Happy New Year, y'all! Here's to a better 2021 lmao


End file.
